


Across the Fire

by Kyra_Bane



Series: Kinktober 2020 [The Old Guard] [4]
Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Kinktober, Kinktober 2020, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pre-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:13:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26844949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kyra_Bane/pseuds/Kyra_Bane
Summary: Yusuf has been in a bad mood for days – so when he suggests they separate to sleep, Nicolò assumes the worst.Turns out, he simply needs some alone time.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Series: Kinktober 2020 [The Old Guard] [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1930153
Comments: 25
Kudos: 329





	Across the Fire

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [(Not) Sight Unseen](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26761819) by [Kyra_Bane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kyra_Bane/pseuds/Kyra_Bane). 



> kinktober day 3 - masturbation
> 
> follows on from my kinktober day 1 fic - (Not) Sight Unseen - but you can probably get the gist without reading it
> 
> also yep i'm already a bit behind so if you're subbed to me i'm sorry if you get a bit of fic spam tomorrow 🥰

It has been two months since Nicolò confessed to spying on Yusuf. 

Two months, and they still sleep beside each other every night; Nicolò often wakes to Yusuf’s arm tight around his waist, their legs tangled, and he is ever thankful for Yusuf being slower to wake because it gives him a chance to deal with the inevitable consequences of a warm body that close.

Who is he lying to? 

The inevitable consequences of having Yusuf’s warm body, _specifically,_ that close.

Nicolò misses the time before he knew, before he spied, when he could nurture his neglected infatuation – for that is what it is; he is not a _fool_ – and pretend it was simply a blossoming friendship, the love that was borne between brothers.

Now, every night is torture – when he does not dream of the two women, then he dreams of Yusuf, and those dreams are becoming decidedly _carnal_ in nature. He tries not to think on them, but during the day, as they make their way through the desert, he finds himself wondering why he always pictures himself on his knees, why he always dreams of Yusuf above him, around him, inside him…

He wakes sometimes aching for it, hips moving of their own accord, and on those mornings he is stubborn, surly, though he can never give Yusuf a good reason why.

Not that the man in question has noticed, of late. He still wakes later than Nicolò – grazie a Dio – but these past five days, he has been watching Nicolò with dark, liquid eyes and has not offered him a smile. It is unusual, for sure, but Nicolò dare not ask after the core problem, mostly because he still fears he missed something when they spoke after his confession.

Today has been particularly terrible. Yusuf has upgraded from terse silence to choice, cutting remarks, and Nicolò considers, more than once, simply riding back the way they came. Their agreement to travel together has always been a tentative one; but then he thinks, again, that they will likely see each other another time, even if that is hundreds of years from now, and he would rather have this conversation sooner than later.

It does not mean he will not put it off one more day.

They dismount for the night, the temperature beginning to drop, and as Yusuf builds a fire, Nicolò rolls out his bedroll. They eat and Yusuf is kind enough to tell Nicolò they are on track, which means the supplies they have will last long enough, something he is glad of – he has died of thirst before and it is not an experience he is keen to repeat.

Still, when he sees Yusuf lay his bedroll out on the opposite side of the fire – not next to Nicolò’s, as has become usual – a hurt like he has never felt before winds its way through him.

“What are you–”

“We can bear to stand one night apart,” Yusuf says quickly, though he does not meet Nicolò’s eyes and he does not say his name. Has not said his name for five days, in fact. 

“I know,” Nicolò says.

“There has not been a traveller pass this way in days, besides,” Yusuf adds. He appears to be building himself up for an argument – but Nicolò does not wish to argue, not when he is unsure what it is _about,_ so instead he simply nods. 

“Alright,” he says. Then, because he is feeling brave, adds, “If you get cold, I am here.”

Yusuf _does_ meet his eyes then and he does not smile but something about his expression makes Nicolò think he said the right thing.

“I know.”

***

Sleep does not come easily for Nicolò, some nights, and it is worse tonight, without the familiar heat and weight of Yusuf at his back. He is lying on his back because he does not want to face Yusuf across the fire but does not want to turn his back on him, either, so he sees only the stars above.

They are astonishingly clear and he wants to remark on it – perhaps he would, if Yusuf were behind him – but instead he traces constellations he barely remembers, making up new ones just for the fun of things.

He freezes when he hears a noise. He has not heard anyone approach, and he is certain he would, which means it could only be Yusuf.

Nicolò all but holds his breath, straining to hear. One of their horses shifts in the sand. Nothing else. 

Until he hears it again and when he realises he recognises the sound, his heart picks up abruptly. 

A _moan._ Just like he heard back in their lodging, only quieter, muffled, as though Yusuf has a hand over his own mouth. 

Nicolò closes his eyes and the sounds are clearer now – a small hitch in Yusuf’s breathing, the shift of his clothes against his bedroll and, underneath all of that, the rhythmic slide of skin on skin.

Nicolò opens his eyes again, cheeks flaming. It is, again, something he has heard before, but never from Yusuf and it has never affected him like this. His own cock is stirring against his thigh and he is sure Yusuf is struggling to stay quiet, moans and whimpers slipping into that quiet space between them.

Is _this_ what has had Yusuf so on edge these past days? He almost wants to laugh; as if he has not been running off to do the same thing almost every morning – except then he feels bad again. He knows Yusuf has not taken another lover since Nicolò saw him together with the stranger and is that because of what he did? Yusuf had said he did not mind, truly, but what if that was all a lie?

Yusuf moans again, a little louder, and Nicolò reaches into his leggings before he can think it through. Like the first time, he is already wet at the head and he slides the slick along his length, does the best he can to spread his legs apart without making any noise.

He feels instantly guilty, but the guilt does nothing to cool his lust and every noise Yusuf allows to escape only makes his grip firmer, his hand move faster. What would it be like, to have Yusuf’s hands on his skin? What if he could swallow every moan, every whimper? 

The thought has him moaning, too, and he realises at once that it was far too loud when Yusuf goes silent across the ashes of the fire.

Nicolò squeezes his eyes shut. He is certain Yusuf can hear the way his heart is thudding against his ribs, and he wonders if he will simply get up and leave – Nicolò would certainly not follow. 

“I was beginning to think you never did this at all,” Yusuf says and Nicolò shudders at the sound of his voice. He is not disgusted, not mocking. Instead, his voice is rough and deep and sounds almost fond.

“I am still human,” Nicolò replies, then adds, “I think,” because he is sure it will make Yusuf laugh. He is warmed when the thought comes true, but Yusuf’s laugh also makes his cock twitch in his hand and he has to bite his lip to keep himself quiet.

Yusuf lets out a heavy breath, as if thinking, and then asks, “What do you think of, Nico?”

_What,_ not _who_ and Nicolò will forever be grateful for that. He cannot give Yusuf the whole truth, not yet; but he can offer a small, secret part of himself. He owes Yusuf that – but it is more – he _wants_ Yusuf to know, though he cannot yet articulate why.

“A man,” he admits.

Yusuf is quiet for a moment. “Is that new?” he asks, finally, and Nicolò flushes at the question he is not asking.

“Not particularly,” he replies. 

“And what do you imagine, with this man?” 

Yusuf’s voice has deepened again and Nicolò is almost sure he’s touching himself. He remembers, vaguely, the outline of Yusuf’s cock, imagines for a second taking it in his mouth, and holds the base of his own cock tight to stave off his pleasure.

“I imagine myself on my knees,” he says and this is madness, but the voice that would usually tell him it is a sin to have these thoughts has been all but silent for months now. “I imagine what he might taste like, how my jaw might ache but I wouldn’t care because…”

He’s stroking himself again and he knows Yusuf is too; he can hear him. Yusuf groans. “Why wouldn’t you care, Nicolò?”

“Because I want to please him,” Nicolò says and it takes all his self-control not to say, _I want to please you._ He does, he knows it, but he is not certain of how well-received he might be and he cannot shake off the fact that there are even more complications.

Yusuf is panting up toward the sky, his hand still moving, and Nicolò moans a little, at that; Yusuf makes a choked-off sound. “Oh, I bet you would, habibi,” he says a moment later and Nicolò cants his hips upwards; he wants a cock – Yusuf’s cock – in his mouth, in his hand, in his– 

“Yusuf, I’m–” He groans, cuts himself off, because he isn’t sure if this is _too far_ but Yusuf huffs out a laugh and moans himself.

“Are you close, hayati?” he asks and Nicolò doesn’t know what that word means. “Keep going, you sound so pretty, let me hear you–”

Nicolò’s toes curl, his back arches, and he cries out as he comes all over his hand and stomach. From the sounds across the fire, Yusuf follows on his heels, letting out a garbled stream of Arabic that Nicolò, still trying to catch his breath, cannot hope to follow.

For a moment, they both lie there, several feet apart, and Nicolò debates the wisdom of cleaning himself off, moving his bedroll…

“Go to sleep, habibi,” Yusuf murmurs, and he sounds as he does when they wake each morning, when he is not fully alert but knows he does not have to be because Nicolò is there. Nicolò is not sure when he made it clear he would throw himself between Yusuf and danger but he cannot regret the man knowing.

“Yusuf?” he says. He does not know what question he is asking.

“Everything is fine,” Yusuf replies and he really is close to sleep now, Nicolò can tell. “I’m sorry for being… We can talk about it in the morning, if you like.”

Nicolò hums in reply. He already knows they will not. Not tomorrow morning, at least.

He falls asleep with a smile on his face, comfortable in the knowledge that Yusuf will be by his side tomorrow and the next day and the next.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Make Your Choice](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26936200) by [Kyra_Bane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kyra_Bane/pseuds/Kyra_Bane)




End file.
